


there's a skirmish of wit between them

by TheFledglingDM



Series: a college of wit-crackers [2]
Category: Much Ado About Nothing (2011), Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clubbing, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Female Friendship, Mentions of Other Shakespeare Characters/Women, Past Abuse, Social Commentary, Taking on the Patriarchy, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22639765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFledglingDM/pseuds/TheFledglingDM
Summary: How long had they been circling each other, bickering and arguing and eclipsing one another, waiting to finally align? Like magnets spinning endlessly until snapping to attention, two compasses veering wildly before finding north again.Before things fell into place, though, Bea and Ben needed to mess up, and mess up again, and again (and again).(A series of oneshots - the story is marked complete and most should stand alone. Requests are accepted!)(A prequel toBea and Ben: A College of Wit-Crackers).
Relationships: Beatrice & Hero (Much Ado About Nothing), Beatrice/Benedick (Much Ado About Nothing), Benedick & Don Pedro
Series: a college of wit-crackers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628626
Comments: 25
Kudos: 63





	1. some cupid kills with arrows (and others with traps)

**Author's Note:**

> requests are welcome!

## 

some cupid kills with arrows (and others with traps)

## 

(when they met)

_Where are you?_

Bea stuck her forkful of stir-fry - tangy chicken over mostly-cooked rice - into her mouth to free up both hands. On her phone she typed, _In the back. I told you._

_I don’t see you._

Bea rolled her eyes. The cheap pleather of the dining hall’s booth stuck to the back of her late-summer sweaty thighs and made an unflattering sound as she stood to look over the rows and rows of freshman heads eating dinner. Most groups were seated by floor, everyone still clinging to their new floor mates for dear life before they found their niches. All except Bea, who had gotten to the dining hall just a bit early after her mandatory science lab let out and grabbed a seat for her cousin.

They hadn’t seen each other since the first night of orientation a week ago, and that had been more of a family-reunion-child-send-off type deal at the overpriced steakhouse in the town. It wasn’t that Bea disliked her cousin, or wasn’t excited to be going to college together - but this was the first time in their lives they had been in the same time zone together for longer than a week, and it was an adjustment.

“Bea!”

And there Pedro was, cheerfully marching down the walkway, a plate in each hand (pizza in one, the same chicken-and-rice dish that Bea was eating in the other). He set them down across from Bea and wrapped her up in a hug. Bea had to take a quick inhale of breath, consciously force her muscles to relax and not stiffen reflexively at the contact. ( _Pedro is your cousin, Pedro is a good guy, the only time he’s ever raised his voice was when you run him off the road in Mario Kart -)_

Pedro pulled back. Bits of curly dark hair were poking out from under his University of Messina ballcap. He was finally taller than Bea, beaming down at her with future laugh lines around his eyes. He was already scruffy over his chin and around his mouth, but maybe that was because he was establishing some kind of dominance over the rest of his all-male hall by showing them that he could grow real facial hair, if he wanted.

“It’s so good to see you! This is my cousin, Beatrice,” Pedro said. One of his arms was still wrapped around Bea’s shoulders as he whirled her around to face whoever he had brought to sit with them _(he hadn’t said anyone was joining them)._ “Beatrice, this is my roommate, Benedick.”

Benedick was a half-head taller than Bea, skinny as a twig with gangly limbs like he hadn’t quite grown into them yet. He had a mop of dark hair on his head, brown eyes, an angular chin.

 _He looks sixteen,_ Bea thought, _Baby-faced Benedick._

“Come off it, Pedro,” Benedick said. Bea blinked in surprise, not expecting the full brunt of a heavy accent - Irish? Welsh? He looked down at her. “It’s _Ben,_ if you will. The accent’s Scottish.” He grinned. “I could tell you were trying to figure it out in yer head.”

She _had_ been, but something about his grin that was too close to a smirk and his tone made Bea bristle. “Not really. You seemed like every other guy in here until you opened your mouth.”

 _Where_ had that come from? Bea almost opened her mouth to apologize, but before she could, Benedick - Ben - laughed.

“Met a lot of Scotsman so far, have you? Maybe you can introduce me to my fellow countrymen.” He stuck out a hand for her to shake. “Beatrice.”

“Bea,” She corrected him, and she shook his hand. He was warm, palms callused from some kind of summer job. His handshake was firm, and the way he held her gaze - there was a challenge, there, in his smirk and the clever glint in his eyes.

“Do you want me to, like, find a different table?” Pedro asked, interrupting their standoff. “Because I can leave.”

Bea dropped his hand like it had burned her and dropped back down into her seat. “Of course not, join us.” She picked a piece of pepperoni off of Pedro’s pizza just to distract him. Pedro and Ben slid into the booth across from her, and Bea resumed her cooled meal.

Pedro and Ben were random roommates, an assignment that seemed to be going well so far, at least as well as Bea and her selected roommate, Katherina. Which was all well and good, except Ben was _annoying as hell._

Not in a _bad_ way - he wasn’t being shitty or sexist or any of those things that would have made Bea just get up and leave (and she knew Pedro wouldn’t bring someone like that around to meet her, anyway. Probably. It’s not like he - _knew._ No one outside her parents and Hero knew, and that made college here so liberating and terrifying all at once. She missed home and her sister so much it hurt, some days).

But his jokes were goofy and he talked a lot about his and Pedro’s engineering classes in a way that made Bea think he was one of _those_ STEM majors, the ones who thought a field being hard and making money was all that made life worthwhile. It wasn’t necessarily a fair thought, Bea knew, but she was on guard, just in case.

“What do you plan to study?” Ben asked around a mouthful of pizza after Pedro had gotten up to get seconds.

“Gender and Women’s Studies,” Bea said, mentally bracing herself for the inevitable follow-up.

“Oh, neat. I didn’t know we had one of those programs,” Ben said, “What d’you plan to do with that?”

 _For the love of -_ “It’s not as well advertised,” Bea said, “So lots of people are surprised Messina has one of _those programs._ And - I’m not sure yet, what I want to do.”

Bea gave him a look that dared him to judge her for that, for being unsure of her future when he had no idea about her past, what she had just finally, _finally_ walked away from.

_(He hadn’t wanted her to go to Messina, her dream school, hadn’t wanted to loosen the leash on her just that much. He told her she wasn’t built to be all alone out there, like college was this Wild West, told her she wasn’t smart enough or driven enough to succeed the way she thirsted for, and if she stayed close to home, lowered herself to his level, she could live the life she wanted, but on his terms._

It still made her sick, some days, realizations of _oh, that was fucked up_ hitting her in the middle of conversations or late and night when she woke up thrashing and needed to go into the floor bathroom, that great, always-lit liminal space to breathe again).

But Ben just nodded. “Yeah, makes sense. Half my hall is undecided. We’re all just getting the pre-reqs out of the way, I s’pose.”

 _It’s not a race,_ Viola had told her in one of her final sessions before she left for school. _You’ll get there in your own time._

 _Where is there?_ Bea had asked her. Viola had smiled in that enigmatic way of hers, replying:

_That’s the beauty of life, Bea. You get to decide._

“Yeah,” Bea said. “I guess we are. At least we can all agree to hate business majors.”

Ben laughed aloud, echoing, dimples coming out on his cheeks. “Aye, that’s true enough. And Brits.”

“And Brits,” Bea agreed, and maybe she had misjudged Ben, and he wasn’t a terrible guy at all.

(And then he started talking about _Star Wars,_ and _Catcher in the Rye,_ and all of his opinions were rationally thought-out and decent interpretations but also wrong, and maybe Ben wasn’t a bad guy - he might just be good, and that might have been worse).


	2. you have such a february face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Request from May-darling: Bea saying that the only good thing about valentine's day is the valentines’ chocolates being on sale the next day. (Mainly because Valentine’s Day is soon and it would be interesting to see her dealing with these kind of romanticised days?)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this idea was so fun and cute to write! i'm actually really glad for this prompt, because it's going to make the next chapter (valentine's 2020) that much more meaningful, because i am a Soft Bitch. 
> 
> CW for discussions of past trauma.

## 

you have such a february face

## 

(valentine’s 2017)

Historically, Bea had mixed feelings about Valentine’s Day.

As a child, she had loved it - candy and cards and love and fairy-tale movies and bright pink frilly _everything_. When she hit middle school and her _I’m smart, I read Big Books, I’m not like other girls!_ phase kicked in, she hated everything it stood for: ooey-gooey feelings and big public displays of affection and gross, messy, middle-school kisses in the hallways. In high school she recognized that those feelings came from a place of feeling small and outcast and less-than, and as much as she disliked the performative affection and heteronormativity and commercialization of love that came with it, she could recognize that it had value to others.

Then Peter happened. Their Valentine’s day was perfect, flowers and dinner and chocolate and candles.

The next year, Bea had stayed home from school and remained in her room all day, because she couldn’t get out of bed. 

Now Bea was a freshman in college, all by herself for the first time - no boyfriends, her parents and sister two and a half hours south. They had sent her a care package for the holiday, scented soaps and face masks and a big bag of Reese’s Pieces. There was a nice note and a Grubhub gift card. Hero added _195 days!_ as a p.s. to her message, the countdown to when she moved in for her freshman year here. 

(Bea had been so excited for her sister she cried - both had dreamed of attending their parents’ alma mater since they were children, swaddled in their worn old college flannels and hoodies and blankets, and now their dream was coming true and Bea couldn’t wait for them to take this campus that had for so long belonged to her parents in her mind and make it _theirs_.)

But still, for the entire two weeks around Valentine’s Day, Bea felt as if she had a gray cloud hovering over her head. Sometimes it rained and she needed to duck into empty classrooms and compose herself; other times it hovered low and heavy like fog, and she snoozed through all her alarms and barely made it to class on time. 

(It was a wonder she was doing so well, but her studies were the one thing she had to focus on; she had neither the time nor energy for clubs this year, though she let Katherina drag her to the occasional college feminist meeting or campus newspaper or Gender and Women’s Studies Undergraduate Council or party. But she worked and studied and read and wrote and she was making all A’s and going to her classes and therapy and she was so goddamn _miserable_ some days she wanted to cry and she wondered if this was going to be life forever now. 

But it couldn’t be. It wouldn’t be. She was going to get up and put on her clothes and brush her teeth and go to class and get through this fucking year, so help her _god_.)

And finally, to add insult to injury, she got her period. 

So here she was in the CVS in the college town, basket on her arm, Midol and a heating pad and a box of lemon chamomile tea in the bottom. She wandered the aisles in a daze of depression and _bad cramps_ , and finally she turned down the candy aisle. It looked like someone had vomited pink and red hearts and frills all over the shelves. Heart-shaped boxes and teddy bears with weird sayings stitched onto them peered at her with their soulless black-button eyes.

And in front of it all was a massive red sign that screamed _All Valentine’s Candy 75% Off! Today Only!_

_Well, then,_ Bea thought to herself, _Fuck it._

She marched down the aisle and knocked a fuckton of candy into her basket - truffles and Hershey’s and Reese’s candy and she wasn’t even sure what, she just tossed it in. Her basket significantly heavier, she rounded the corner and walked face-first into someone. They spoke at the same time:

“Oh, I’m sorry - ”

“God- _damn_ it - ”

Bea stopped her rude tirade before she could start it, biting her tongue from letting out her bad mood on this random passerby. But then she looked and realized that it was no stranger, but Ben she had run into. He was blinking down at her, surprised and caught off-guard by her (mostly) uncharacteristic snap.

“Oh, I’m sorry Ben,” Bea babbled. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, and -”

“It’s okay,” Ben said over her. He peered into her basket, shifting from foot to foot. “Rough Valentine’s?”

“What?” Bea asked, more sharply than she intended. She internally winced, making her shoulders relax and her voice lighter and less bitchy when she said, “Um. Not a big fan. But it’s not like anything happened. It’s just a commercialized, patronizing holiday that makes billions of dollars out of performing affection for others and I think it sucks.”

A beat. Finally Ben said, his tone flat but his eyes knowing, “...Right.”

She sounded like the mess she was. Wearily, Bea admitted, “And I’m on my period.”

She half-expected Ben to squawk and cover his ears like Bea had confessed an especially taboo kink to him in this CVS aisle. Instead he nodded sagely, his expression sympathetic. “A raw deal, then.”

Bea nodded, not sure what to say. Then she saw the can of Guinness he had in his hand.

“Oh, um,” She said, “We’re not twenty-one. We can’t get beer yet.”

Ben narrowed his eyes in confusion before peering down at the beer. With a very put-upon sigh and a lot of feeling, he said, _“Fuck,”_ and went to go put the case back. Bea muffled a sympathetic laugh behind her hand as he added under his breath, “This fucking country, you can go to war at eighteen but can’t buy a pint -”

“Rough Valentine’s Day?” She asked, throwing his question back at him. Ben shrugged, rolling his shoulders under his winter jacket.

“Not a favorite day of mine, no,” He admitted. Bea left it at that, hoping that if she didn’t ask him about his damage, he wouldn’t ask about hers. He stood in front of the cooler with his hands in his pockets, looking betrayed by the beer for daring to have alcohol in it. His brows furrowed and Bea could imagine him wishing, very hard, that if he stood here long enough, he could turn twenty-one and get the beer he so desired. 

But there was an expression in his eyes, something far away and melancholy, that spoke to Bea in a way his jokes and banter never quite had. Bea had never given Ben much thought before (outside of _Pedro’s Annoying Roommate_ ), and despite the sporadic time they had spent together, still did not quite consider him friends.

They weren’t friends, but years later, looking back - Bea and Ben would think of this meeting in CVS, and agree that this might have been when they started.

“Hey,” Bea said. He looked over at her, hair flopping over his forehead. He was in desperate need of a haircut. She went on, “Katherina and I are having a _Criminal Minds_ marathon in our room this afternoon. Face masks and nails and junk food. Do you want to come by?”

“On one condition,” Ben said solemnly. 

“Yeah?”

His face cracked into a grin. “Will you paint my toes?”

Bea rolled her eyes but smiled this time. She brushed past him to go to the check-out counter. “Not on your life.”

“I tried.” Ben sighed dramatically and followed, waiting patiently while she checked out. As they left, turning their collars up against the wind, he said, “Are you hungry?”

“Starving, actually,” Bea said.

“Great. There’s this little spot around the corner, makes some of the best burgers I’ve had here in the States. Want some?”

“Sure,” Bea said, trying to sound normal and not act like the thought of greasy junk food made her want to go just a bit feral. Ben led her down the street to a seedier-looking area that Bea had not yet walked. 

“Are you finding an alleyway to drag me down and kill me in?” Bea asked, mostly joking. Ben snorted.

“I’m sure you could give me a run for my money in a fight, but no. C’mon, it’s right here,” Ben said, and they stopped outside a smaller restaurant called _Harry’s_. It was a smaller establishment, warm lighting and slightly sticky floors. Ben said a jovial hello to the owner and placed his order. Bea ordered a double bacon cheeseburger and large fries, knowing Katherina would steal at least half, and a chocolate milkshake. The bartender winked and went into the back to make their meals.

Bea craned her neck around, studying the walls. Decades of University of Messina memorabilia bedecked the shelves alongside hundreds of photos; there was a wall of shame of confiscated fake IDs above the hard liquor on the other side of the bar.

“What’re you looking for?” Ben asked, interrupting her scrutiny.

“I’m looking for your fake,” Bea said. “Is that you?”

She pointed at one on the lower right side, someone with a round face and a bowl cut and coke-bottle lenses. From the yellowed plastic, it looked some thirty years old.

“Excuse you,” Ben said, affronted. “That was my senior portrait. I think I look dashing.”

Bea laughed louder than she meant to, surprised. Ben laughed with her. Bea added, “In all seriousness, I’m looking for my parents on the wall. They went to Messina, too, though they were a few years apart. I don’t think they met until they attended an alumni event in San Francisco.”

“A legacy, I see,” Ben said. “Must be proud.”

“I hope so,” Bea admitted. A lump rose in her throat, her mind flashing back to a memory ( _“Mom, Dad, I have to tell you something, please don’t be angry, remember that boy you told me to avoid, well I didn’t and you were right and I’m sorry, please don’t be angry, no Mom don’t cry -"_ ) “What about your parents?”

“It wasn’t an alumni event,” Ben said with a half-shrug.

“College?”

“My ma didn’t go to college.”

“What about your dad?”

“I don’t _care_ ,” Ben snapped. The force of it surprised both him and Bea, if his widened eyes were any indication. Bea flinched back and tried to pass it off as a lingering shiver from outside. 

“I see,” She said, keeping her voice carefully steady. “I didn’t mean to pry. Sorry. But you don’t need to snap.”

“No, I’m sorry. That wasn’t about you,” Ben said. He let out a long sigh. “Ma was on her own raising me. She didn’t care much for the holiday, and I think that passed on to me, too.” He leaned forward, elbows braced on the worn wood of the bar. “What a pair we make, eh, Bea?”

“Yeah,” Bea said, studying the weary curl of his shoulders and the bags under his eyes. “Something like that.”

The bartender came out with two bags in his hands. Bea considered it a good sign that the bags were already looking grease-stained.

“Thanks, Harry,” Ben said, handing his cash over. Bea went to give her fifteen dollars, but the bartender waved it off.

“It’s all settled,” He said. “Ben, have a good one.”

He went into the back room to handle the dishes. Bea glared up at Ben.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I had the cash out,” Ben argued. “It was easier.”

_I can’t owe you anything,_ Bea almost said, bordering on panicked in a way she couldn’t quite put words to. Instead, she dug out her cell phone. “What’s your Venmo?”

“Bea, you don’t have to -”

“Ben,” Bea ground out. “What. Is. Your Venmo?”

Ben sighed. “If it means that much to you. It’s just my name.”

Bea looked him up online and sent him her half of the bill. Then, for good measure, she put a five on the bar as a tip. Ben rolled his eyes - with a touch more fondness than he may have, say, last week - and held the door open for her on the way out.

Fifteen minutes later they were pushing the door to Bea’s double open. Katherina looked up from where she was typing on her computer. 

“About time! I was scared you’d hemorrhaged on the bus back and died and - oh.” She blinked. Then with her standard tact, she asked, “Who’re you?”

“Ben,” He said, toeing off his shoes and shrugging off his coat. “Yes, that Ben, I’ve no doubt Bea _gushes_ about me when I’m not around -”

“More like bitch about you,” Bea said, making her way to the water bottle on her desk and knocking it back with two Midol. To Katherina, she said, “Do you mind if Ben stays to watch with us? He bought me lunch so I feel bad kicking him out now.”

“Only if he participates in the full ritual,” Katherina said. She looked up at Ben. “We’re doing a blood sacrifice under the full moon. Keeps the wrinkles at bay.”

“Oh, cool,” Ben said casually. “Am I helping or am I the sacrifice?”

“That depends on how the next few hours go.”

“I understand. Proceed.”

Katherina’s brows rose and she sent Bea a look that told her she was _definitely_ going to be talking about this with her later. She stood up to move into the center of the room.

Bea and Katherina had made a plan when they were preparing for their room arrangements: they would loft their beds to free up floor space; Bea would put her desk under her bed, and Katherine would make a self-care introvert nook under hers. They hung curtains from their beds to give each other privacy and so Bea wouldn’t keep Katherina up when she worked late. On a bookshelf from Bea’s childhood bedroom was the television that Katherina had brought. In the middle of the room was a plush carpet, perfect for laying on, and a series of chairs and bean bags. Without further ado, Bea grabbed her favorite fluffy blanket and heating pad and put her feet up on a pouf. Then, comfy and warm in her sweatpants and hoodie and blanket, she took a massive bite of her burger.

“Oh my _god_ ,” she said. She was too tired and cranky and hungry and in too much pain to care about the sound of the moan she let out. “This is incredible.”

“Do you want a minute alone together?” Ben asked. He sat on a bean bag between Katherina and Bea. 

“It won’t last that long,” Bea said before wolfing down another bite.

“No respect for the burger’s stamina, I see,” Ben said dryly. 

Katherina rolled her eyes at them both and pulled up Netflix, hitting play. She crossed her legs under her and started to paint her nails.

Bea, to Ben’s surprise and amazement, practically _inhaled_ her burger and was done with it almost as soon as the credits were over. 

(“I’ve never thought you were so cool, Bea.”

“Fuck off, Ben, or I’ll eat yours, too.”

“Do it. I won’t even be mad. I’ll just be in awe.”

“Will you two shut the hell up?”)

Except Katherina soon gave up on asking Ben to be quiet, because he had never seen an episode of _Criminal Minds_ before and throwing him into the middle of season four was a confusing experience for a poor man with no critical thinking skills (“Hey, that hurts.”) For half of the first episode it was _who’s that, who’s that, who’re they again? What’s an unsub? Wait, those two aren’t dating? Jesus, Matthew Gray Gubler looks like an infant._

Ben didn’t do face masks with them, or paint his fingernails, but he did finally agree to participate and do a pore strip and paint his toenails.

“Ow, ow, ouch, owie, _owie!_ ” Ben said with the nose strip only halfway off. His eyes were watering. “You do this? Regularly? On purpose?”

“Beauty is pain,” Bea said, running her finger over the strip still on her nose. It wasn’t fully dry yet, because she was an oily little monster.

“Whoever said that, I’m going to throttle,” Ben said. 

(And suddenly Bea was breathless, at that casual dismissal of beauty expectations and the way she and Katherina were expected to perform them, and there was a lump in her throat because what kind of state was she in where a weak joke made her feel like she could cry?)

“Oh my god, that’s disgusting,” Ben said, because he was a put-together adult and wasn’t stitching himself back together day by day. He was holding up the pore strip, eyes wide in fascination as he turned it to examine it from every angle. He looked between Bea and Katherina and held it out to them. “I made those?”

“Yes, and don’t hand it to me, I don’t want to see the gross shit you had on your nose,” Katherina said.

“You would reject my children? Who I loved and bore?” Ben asked, holding the strip out to her. He looked beseechingly at Bea. “Will you turn them away at the inn, too, Bea?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Bea said, but she laughed.

“Both of you _hush_ , this is a good episode,” Katherina said. Bea and Ben exchanged grins and went back to watching the show.

Hours later, Ben stood up to leave, abandoning his nest of fast food and candy wrappers. At a look, a chastened Ben put them all in the bag to take out to the trash.

“Well, this was fun,” Ben said as he stood above Bea’s shoulder. “See you around, I suppose?”

Bea craned her neck to peer up at him. “Sure. Uh...take care.”

“You too.”

After another moment, Ben picked his shoes up (he lived in the building, two floors down and on another wing, but _really?_ He was going to walk in just his _socks?_ ) and left, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Katherina started speaking the second the door closed. “ _That’s_ Ben?”

“Yeah,” Bea said, squirming to get more comfortable. “Why?”

“You told me he was a hack, annoying, a doofus, the kind of guy who makes liking _Rick and Morty_ and _Bojack Horseman_ and _Parks and Rec_ his whole personality?”

“The last part may have been...unfair,” Bea said slowly. “In my defense, today was the most time we’ve spent together at once.”

“Uh...huh,” Katherina said. “And you also have not connected the dots that he has a massive crush on you?”

Bea snorted so loudly she coughed. “As _if_. He’s just...like that. I invited him by because we both hate Valentine’s Day. And I got all this candy for cheap.”

To punctuate her point, Bea started to unwrap a Lindt truffle, because she knew she came from upper-middle class and tried not to be _too_ bougie, but these were the best chocolates ever. Katherina sighed.

“If you say so, Bea.” A beat. “So are we going to talk about why you hate Valentine’s?”

“Commercialization of romance, performative affection, the public reinforcement of heteronormativity -” Bea rattled off, but Katherina stopped her.

“I read all the same shit you do, Bea,” she interrupted. She paused the show - a real sign she meant business - and studied her. Katherina was intense in everything she did, and this seemed no different - her dark eyes scrutinized Bea. “But I also live with you. And you’re not as quiet at night as you think you are.”

Bea’s face flushed hot with embarrassment and shame. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you -”

“It’s not about that,” Katherina said. Her expression flickered. “If anything...happened...you can talk to me, if you want. You should talk to someone, at least. And if anyone is bothering you, I can kick their ass. As you know.”

Katherina was a purple belt in kung fu (Southern Dragon style, Katherina had explained to her, put into it by her Nepalan mother who needed something to do with her “hooligan daughter,” Katherina had told her once). It was one of the first things they had talked about when they met on the school’s Class of 2020 page.

“Yeah,” Bea said. “I do know.”

“Just…” Kat struggled. Bea studied her anew: her dark skin, wild hair, fierce, hard eyes. There was something familiar in those eyes. Some kind of kindred spirit. Recognition dawned in Bea’s mind. “I’m here to talk.”

“Okay,” Bea said. She nodded, once, the words coming up her throat like an ocean tide or vomit. More firmly, she repeated, “Okay.”

Bea told Katherina everything. And then Katherine told Bea everything. Then they stayed up, talking and laughing and crying, until the wee hours of the morning. 

Bea did not have another panic attack that school year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> katherina is based on taming of the shrew, ofc, but this particular characterization pulls from the character kat i played in d&d. my beloved, angry, traumatized girl. god i miss her. her fighting style i mentioned is based on the fighting style she used in the campaign: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southern_Dragon_Kung_Fu. thank u all for putting up with my self-indulgence.
> 
> anyway!!! thank you for reading!!


	3. hang me in a bottle like a cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a cute, meet-cute au i couldn't get out of my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a huge thank-you to generation-zero on tumblr for this ask!!!!
> 
> this fic is inspired by my own conversations with my pet at home, and the realization that they must surely sound odd to someone who might overhear us.

Ben did not give two thoughts about it when his neighbors moved out of the apartment complex. He was never particularly close to the couple, or any of his neighbors, really. Who even talked to their neighbors anymore? No one went over to _say welcome to the building_ or ask to borrow a cup of sugar anymore. And since this building featured in-unit laundry, Ben never needed to interact with people beyond a brisk nod passing on the stairs or at the mailboxes. And that was exactly the life he preferred. He kept to himself and his one-bedroom apartment and his engineering job in downtown San Francisco, and that was exactly what he wanted.

In fact, Ben had not even noticed the inhabitants in the two-bedroom next door changed until he checked his mail one Tuesday afternoon and saw that the battered mail tag for apartment 310 had changed. The new tag simply read, _**Stratford, H/ Stratford, B.**_

_Huh_ , Ben thought. _Neat_.

That was the most thought he put into his new neighbors until Friday. Ben was sitting on his couch, phone in one hand and beer in the other, Netflix on in the background. He was not paying real attention to anything at all, really, which was why he jumped where there was a sudden crashing sound through the wall.

And dimly, Ben heard a woman’s voice lamenting, _“Oh, you_ _stupid little bastard.”_

Ben furrowed his brow at the sound, listening to hear if there would be any more. There wasn’t. Shaking his lip with a bemused little smile on his face, Ben returned to his phone.

Ben assumed that the odd outburst through the walls would be a one-time thing. But clearly he overestimated the thickness of the walls in his building, or he underestimated the temper of his new neighbors.

Every now and then, Ben heard the noise through the wall: loud, uninhibited laughter; the shifting of different furniture being assembled or rearranged; the odd fire alarm dinging off, always accompanied by some kind of loud swear.

And every now and then, Ben would hear that voice again.

_“Out of my way, you tiny bastard man, if I trip over you I am going to push you out the window.”_

_“Dinner time, dinner time, dinner time! Will you eat this? I don’t care if you like it or not! You’ll eat it and like it!”_

_“Get a job, you fucking freeloader. Pay your rent. Pull your own weight around here for once.”_

_“No. No. No. This is mine. I’m not sharing. Fuck off. I hate you. Fine, one kiss.”_

_“Back, back, back – no! Move! You know you’re not allowed outside!”_

It was like living with a strange, cranky ghost that swore like a sailor. And had a mean streak.

Most nights, it was actually rather funny. But as time went on, he started to grow a bit concerned. Whoever his new neighbors were, they sounded like they had a… contentious relationship. One full of arguing and insults and exasperated affection.

Ben knew that his neighbors’ lives weren’t any of his business. But he had to admit he was deeply curious. And with the occasional crash and shout, he wondered if he ought to pop by. Check in. Greet the new neighbors, after all. His mother would probably give him her standard amused, slightly disappointed look if he revealed that he had still not said hello or welcome to his new neighbors since they moved in over two months ago.

The tipping point finally came, as Ben knew it must. He had just arrived home from work, a few hours later than usual on a Friday night. He’d had a project to finish up, and the rest of the office was barely helping. So it was almost eight o’clock in the evening as Ben made his way up the stairs, keys in one hand and loosening his tie with the other. He was just about to open his front door when a sudden clattering of dishes made him jump.

_“No – dammit, you little shit – you know you’re not allowed in the kitchen! Get out! I will feed you! Move, you stupid asshole!”_

Ben looked longingly at his door. Then he sighed, taking the five steps to the neighboring door. He lifted a fist, rapping his knuckles against the door.

Immediately, that same voice called: _“One second! Shit, no, move - c’mere -”_

The door chain rattled, the deadbolt turned. The door opened. And Ben came face-to-face with his neighbor. He opened his mouth. Forgot how words worked.

Because – oh, _wow_. The woman had a heart-shaped face, strong features, long, dark auburn hair, hazel eyes. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks like stars. She was a bit shorter than him, curvy, wearing a soft, faded _Star Wars_ t-shirt with the collar cut so that the oversized shirt drooped down one shoulder. In her arms was a very large, very fluffy orange cat with perhaps the largest and most vacant eyes Ben had ever seen.

Oh. A cat. _A_ _cat._

A lot of things made sense now.

“Um, hi, did you need something?” The Most Beautiful Woman Ben Had Ever Seen asked, cutting off Ben’s train of thought.

“Oh, no,” Ben said. The woman raised an eyebrow, looking distinctly unimpressed. He quickly amended, “Well, I live next door, in three-oh-eight, and I, uh, I’ve heard you? Yelling? And I wanted to check in, see if you were okay, but.” He flapped a hand in the girl’s general direction, his limbs feeling oddly boneless. “The cat. You have a cat. Makes sense.”

“You heard – _oh_ , my God,” the woman said, her expression going from borderline suspicious to confused to mortified. She had absolutely no poker face, and Ben found that observation indescribably charming. _“Oh, my God_. I’m _so sorry_ , I had _no idea_ the walls were so thin, I’m so sorry I’ve been bothering you –”

“You didn’t bother me,” Ben interrupted, which he knew was rude, but he felt even worse watching this adorable woman blush in embarrassment. “I mean, it was. Funny? But I just. I wanted to check in? And, uh, say hi. Since we’re neighbors.”

The woman opened her mouth to speak, but then there was another voice in the apartment. “Bea? Who’s at the door?”

The woman – Bea – stepped aside as a smaller, more petite woman stepped into the doorway. Her blonde hair was tied up into a ponytail at the top of her head. She eyed Ben with a blue-eyed stare. Then she peeked up at Bea. “A gentleman caller, Bea? Scandalous.”

Well, that was their relationship explained in two sentences. Ben watched the two sisters as Bea glared down at the younger woman. “Of course not, Hero. This is our neighbor…” She frowned at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Oh, no,” Ben agreed. It took him a second to realize, oh, she was _asking the strange man at her door to introduce himself._ An extremely reasonable request. Yes, Ben would love to drop through the floor right about now. “Uh. Ben. Ben Montounto. And I have intruded on your night long enough. So I am going to…” _Face-plant into my couch, throw a blanket over my head, and hide for the rest of my life._

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” The blonde woman, Hero, suddenly asked. Her sister tried to open her mouth, but she plowed on over anything she might have said. “Since we’ve apparently been bothering you for the past few weeks without even knowing it. An apology. Bea’s a… cook.”

Bea cut her sister with a glare. Ben tried to bite back a laugh, and he mostly succeeded until Bea turned her affronted hazel-eyed gaze on him. Oh, she was _adorable_. 

“I don’t want to intrude,” Ben said honestly. He stepped back. Bea held his gaze.

“It’s not intruding if we invited you,” she pointed out bluntly.

“Oh, so now it’s ‘we?’” Ben asked. Bea lifted her chin slightly, refusing to back down even as her cheeks pinked slightly.

“Well, I didn’t stutter,” Bea replied archly, and she stepped aside to invite Ben into her apartment. It had the same layout as his own, just flipped and mirrored, with an extra bedroom attached. He carefully sat on the couch, sitting awkwardly straight up.

“D’you want anything to drink?” Hero asked, poking her head into the fridge as Bea returned to the stove. “We have water, seltzer, beer –”

“– Terrible wine, move, you little monster,” Bea said to the orange cat winding around her ankles. Now that he was here to see it in person, Ben could see the smile on Bea’s face as she cooed down at the cat. He could also hear the pet _mrowl_ back up at her, green eyes wide and guileless. Ben dimly wondered if he would even hear the Wii homepage music echoing in the cat’s head, or if the poor little thing lacked even that.

“Seltzer is fine, thanks,” Ben said. He already felt awkward enough sitting in a strangers’ living room; drinking their alcohol was just several steps too far. Just as he was getting set to leap to his feet and sprint to his apartment, a loud mewl made him look down.

“Hello, lad,” Ben greeted the orange cat, holding out a hand for the pet to sniff. “What’s your name?”

“Tony.” Bea set a can on a coaster in front of him and sat on the other side of the couch, leaving a careful full cushion of space between them.

“Tony, hmm?” Ben replied, still speaking to the cat. “Talented wee thing, aren’t you? You can talk and everything.”

He heard Bea stifle a laugh. “He’s a rescue from a local shelter, so he’s still getting used to people. He takes a bit to warm up –”

Bea’s sentence trailed off when Tony suddenly leapt up to land on his lap. He circled around for a few moments, orange cur catching on the material of Ben’s slacks, before plopping himself into a furry puddle. Ben automatically ran his knuckles under the cat’s chin, and the cat closed his eyes and tilted his head back happily. He started purring, long, loud, and low, like a running engine or a motorboat.

Ben looked at Bea. Her mouth was hanging open, insulted. He felt himself grinning. “You were saying?”

“Shut up,” Bea snapped back automatically, though there was no anger behind the phrase. Ben laughed aloud.

“This is such bullshit,” Bea said, pointing at the cat. “He’s been with us for like, two months, and he still _never_ sits on my lap? Hero’s, _occasionally_ , but never _mine_. You’re an asshole, you know that?”

The latter sentence was addressed to the cat. Ben lightly scratched his nails behind the cat’s ears, and Tony shoved his head into the pressure. The purring only grew louder. Ben watched Bea scowl playfully at the cat, dark brows furrowing and cheeks going pink when she blew a raspberry at the cat.

Adorable. Utterly adorable. Ben could not believe he had shared a wall with this woman for two months. He knew nothing about her, about her job or her life or where she was from or her history or how she took her coffee or her favorite shows or movies or colors. All he knew was she was beautiful, and sassy, and she lived with her sister, and she loved her cat, and she swore like a sailor, and she had freckles dotting over her shoulders as well as her cheeks.

He did not want to lose any more time.

“You know,” Ben started, keeping his gaze on the cat. _Don’t be weird. Don’t come on too strong._ “Cats are supposed to good judges of character.”

He met Bea’s gaze. To his relief, she did not look like she was about to toss him out of her apartment. No, Bea Stratford met his gaze with a smirk and a challenging glint in her eyes. 

“I’ve heard that, but I still prefer to conduct my own research. So, _Ben Montounto.”_ She angled herself toward him, supporting her chin with the arm she propped over the back of the couch, and raised her chin.

“Tell me about yourself.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!! as always, you can find me on tumblr at notantherwritingblog!


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